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What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
- 28
Chapter 27. Planning and Pining

Hermione sat rigid, watching as Draco turned and walked out of the compartment after his final parting comments to Harry. The doors closed almost immediately behind him, speeding them away from him, but it wasn’t until they were well away from the station before Hermione let out the breath she was holding and relaxed back against the seat. Tilting her head back, she stared up at the ceiling of their compartment.
“Well, that went better than I expected,” she announced, feeling relief as all the tension melted out of her.
She was just as eager to see the end of this meeting as she had been for the one with Snape, even though she’d felt more confident, better prepared for this encounter, with the time and place not having been dictated to them, but stipulated by them, and also because Harry was so much healthier than he’d been on that last outing. Snape’s motives had been unclear, but she still felt surer of his loyalties than she did when Harry suggested they make contact with Draco. Harry was convinced, however, that Draco would help them.
Ron had been furious at the suggestion, adamantly refusing to go along with it, but Harry was far more stubborn than Ron could ever hope to be, and since they had no better alternatives to put forward, he won in the end. Of course, the only real way to deny Harry would’ve been to tie him down or knock him unconscious, and they all knew it. Once he decided on a course of action, it was nearly impossible to get him to deviate from it. Long experience should have told them that. Arguing with him was pointless. The best they could ever hope for was to have Harry listen to their concerns and take precautions, which he had done on this occasion. And of course, questioning Draco turned out to be profitable. He had been a veritable goldmine of information, saving them a lot of time they might have wasted searching Bellatrix’s home for the Horcrux, though now they had the daunting task of figuring out how to break into her vault.
“Do you think it worked?” Ron asked, and she knew he was referring to the memory charm she’d cast on Draco after Harry questioned him about the Horcrux.
“Of course, couldn’t you tell? He never even realized it when Harry began to question him again.”
“You were very quick off the mark with that Obliviate, Hermione,” Ron complimented her. “The timing was perfect. Malfoy was really starting to freak out.”
“I know,” she agreed, nodding her head.
They couldn’t think of any other way to get the information about the Horcrux, its description or location, without asking Draco directly, but leaving him with that kind of knowledge and sending him back to the Dark Lord would’ve been foolish. Still, she hadn’t expected to have to cast it so hastily. Draco may not have understood exactly what they were searching for, but he could sense the danger for himself.
Seeing his genuine terror as he’d comprehended the gravity of what he’d revealed, the way his hands shook when he’d talked about his father and his fear for himself and his mother, she actually felt a bit sorry for him. She felt guilty for the danger they’d put him in, even though he’d agreed to the meeting and had volunteered the information. He’d looked ill, thin and pale; thinner even than he had when he’d brought them food in the dungeon. Lucius’ death had clearly dealt him a devastating blow.
“Harry?” Ron prompted when Harry had yet to join the conversation.
Sitting stiffly, his hands in his lap and his eyes down, Harry studied his wand which he’d pulled from inside his jacket after Draco had left the compartment. His thoughts appeared to be far away from the location of the Horcrux or how successful her Obliviate spell had been.
Hermione watched him, afraid he was thinking about the news that Dean and Luna were being held by Bellatrix, which had hit her very hard, too, like a blow to the diaphragm that left her winded. Fearing that he was blaming himself for what was happening now to their friends or maybe that he was thinking about Draco’s parting words, about what Harry had done to himself and all the things that had been done to him in that terrible place, she reached out a hand and covered his.
Draco’s implication that Harry had allowed the Death Eaters torture him, that he’d been somehow complicit in the atrocities committed against him, had annulled a portion of her concern for the acerbic wizard’s welfare.
“I agree. This one turned out much better than the last,” Harry admitted, finally looking up at Ron as he slid his hand out from under hers. “Though I still think it would have been a lot less hassle just to meet him in the woods and save ourselves all this trouble.”
He waved his hand around to indicate their compartment, which was still under several of her enchantments, as if he merely wanted to free his hand to gesture with it. But she knew he was trying to pull away from her touch, to re-establish their physical boundaries. She drew her hand back into her own lap, the corners of her mouth turned down in a tiny frown at the clear message he’d sent.
He’d made no attempt to remove his arm from Draco’s grip earlier, but he was obviously reinstating the strict, no-touching rule for the three of them. She’d meant nothing by her touch besides an offering of comfort. Yet when Draco had grabbed him roughly by the wrist and yanked him forward, he clearly felt less threatened, despite all the animosity there was between the two wizards. The fact that Draco had taken no part in Harry’s torture seemed to have neutralized his powerful hatred and distrust of Draco.
“I was just trying to be careful,” Ron replied patiently. “So far so good on this one.”
The plan had been mostly masterminded by Ron. Harry had already decided to ask Dobby to deliver his message to Draco when he’d approached them about wanting to question their old schoolmate. He’d thought it out, and suggested they meet him where they’d run into Draco after the World Cup, a location only the four of them would know.
After Ron’s initial explosion at the suggestion, and once it was apparent that there would be no changing Harry’s mind, Ron had dictated the strategy from there, insisting instead that he alone meet Draco in the woods. She and Harry picked the Tube as the meeting place when they’d finally agreed (Harry reluctantly) not to risk his newly regained health on multiple Apparitions, which meant that they would have to meet Draco somewhere in Muggle London.
Harry thought the whole thing was a bit of overkill, reminding them both that Madame Pomfrey hadn’t placed any restrictions on him, physically or magically, but they weren’t taking any chances. And it really had gone off very smoothly.
It was a good plan, one of the first maybe that unfolded as they’d drawn it up, she thought, reminded again of Harry’s angry words when he’d insisted on meeting Snape, about how all their previous plots turned out.
“That might change when he realizes he doesn’t have his wand,” Harry confessed.
“What?” Ron spluttered, dumbfounded.
Hermione, too, was taken aback, confused, thinking for a moment that she must have misunderstood him because she’d seen him give Draco back his wand.
“I kept his, and gave him the blackthorn,” Harry explained, holding up the wand. “So he’s likely to be waiting for us at the next stop to ask for it back.” He looked both sheepish and defiant, a slight flush spreading into his cheeks and neck.
“Oh, Harry, you didn’t!” she cried, now understanding his curiosity about Draco’s wand. The unexpected questions he’d had about it when Ron dropped it in his lap finally making some sense to her.
“What the hell? Why would you do that?” Ron asked, outraged.
Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “It feels better to me, like I don’t have to force my magic through it. Draco’s wand felt… more suited to me, so I kept it,” he said defensively.
“Christ! He probably Disapparated and told Bellatrix everything,” Ron shouted, knowing the reaction he’d get out of Harry at her spoken name, flaring suddenly with anger. “And I’ll bet she’s summoned all the Death Eaters and You Know Who by now. Why would you do something so stupid?”
“You mean like punching him in the face and breaking his nose before anyone had a chance to ask him a single question? That kind of stupid?” Harry shot back.
Ron glared at him.
“I was only trying to subdue him so I could Apparate with him. I didn’t want him struggling and getting us both splinched or getting scared and pressing his Dark Mark.”
“Right. I’m sure it didn’t have anything to do with how much you hate him. This was your plan, and you almost ruined it yourself. I think maybe you’d hoped to anyway,” Harry accused.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I don’t want to find the rest of the Horcruxes and finish this, too?” Ron asked in disbelief.
“I think you despised the idea of asking him for help so much that you might’ve tried to sabotage it, yeah,” Harry answered angrily, the lines between his eyes and around his mouth going white as his face reddened with mounting anger.
Hermione sat momentarily stunned at the exchange, unable to fathom how this had turned so quickly from a discussion about their successful interrogation of Draco into a heated row, utterly incapable for the moment of doing anything except staring between them in shock.
“Is that so? Well, just because we needed the information he gave us doesn’t mean we had to kiss his arse to get it. You handled him with kid gloves, but I’m not treating him like the prince he thinks he is. He’s his father in training!” Ron said in frustration.
“Look, Ron, I can’t help but be grateful to anyone who was there in that hellhole that didn’t want a pound of my flesh, okay? I’ll go back—”
“No, but he watched everyone else take theirs, though, didn’t—”
“I’ll go back to hating him after all this is over, maybe,” Harry continued more loudly. “But right now I’ve got a job to do, and I can’t let personal feelings get in the way of it. I’ll cozy up to whoever I have to, regardless of their moral turpitude, if it gets me the information I need.”
“You’re not the only one who has a dog in this fight. I have a job to do, too, and you’re an idiot if you don’t think I want this shit over with.”
Both of them had leaned forward now, drawing closer together as their anger at each other escalated, while Hermione continued to sit frozen in shock.
“Really? What job did Dumbledore set you, Ron?” Harry asked mockingly. “You know, if it’s getting to be too much for you, I reckon you can just walk away again.” The corner of his lip turned up in a sneer.
“Harry…” she admonished, finally finding her voice.
He’d stepped out of bounds with that comment, and it’d been deliberate. She knew it. Always going for that tender spot to send Ron over the edge when he struck, Harry jabbed where he knew it would hurt the worst. Or maybe, she considered for the first time, he was expressing the thing he feared the most: that Ron would leave again, and maybe take her along with him this time; revealing his own vulnerability, seeking reassurance that they wouldn’t abandon him.
Ron went red all over, clenching his fists.
“He set me to protect you, you stupid prat! Me, and Hermione. It’s my job to keep you safe, to watch your back or clear the way for you. And in case you hadn’t noticed, that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m not leaving again, no matter how hard you try and push me away. You don’t have to like it, but you damn well better accept it.”
“You keep trying to atone for something that wasn’t your fault, Ron. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. You’re not helping, okay? You’re just getting in my way—”
“Please, let’s stop arguing, okay,” she pleaded, holding her hands up between them, interrupting to try and smother the flare-up of anger before it got worse, because Ron looked ready to grab Harry by the throat and strangle him. “Everything turned out all right. We have the information we needed. Let’s just concentrate on getting back home safely now. Please?”
She’d been feeling like a referee lately. There had been so much tension between Harry and Ron in the last couple of days, an uncomfortable awkwardness in their dealings with each other. They’d become strangers, their conversations either painfully cordial, or heated arguments so that she’d become their mediator.
Their estrangement made her feel like she had after Harry’s name had come out of the Goblet of Fire and Ron and Harry had stopped speaking to each other. Except on that occasion, they’d had school and the tournament and a host of other students and teachers to distract them or act as a buffer between them. Now Grimmauld Place had begun to feel claustrophobic in their isolation as all of them tip-toed around each other and pretended not to notice the giant elephant in the room.
“All right, I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry I took his wand,” Harry apologized grudgingly, sliding back against his seat again and crossing his arms over his chest.
Hermione lowered her hands as the fear of them coming to blows lessened.
“It was impulsive and stupid, but I feel better holding it than that other one. I couldn’t help but make the swap. I just don’t want to have to fight with a wand that feels like it’s fighting me. You know? Maybe he won’t notice right away, maybe the blackthorn will be better suited to Draco than it was to me. Everything went really smoothly. I’m sorry if I fucked it up, okay?”
“We’ll be all right. You haven’t messed anything up, Harry. There was always a chance that Draco would summon help once we left him. We were going to Disapparate just as soon as we pulled into the next station. We’ll just leave a little sooner, before the train stops,” Hermione said.
“Fine. Then I’m sorry I punched the little pointy-faced pillock. Maybe I was impulsive and stupid, too,” Ron conceded, still red in the face and breathing hard, “but it made me feel better.”
Harry looked disparagingly at Ron for his insincere apology.
“Whatever. Did you at least get some of his hair?” he asked.
Ron held up his hand in answer to the question. Pinched between his finger and thumb were a few strands of white blond hair.
That had been her idea. It was just for insurance purposes. They had no idea what Draco would be able to provide, willingly or unwillingly, if he even agreed to come. But having his hair as a resource for another round of polyjuice potion seemed a good idea. So they decided to take advantage of the opportunity if it presented itself.
“Here, give me that,” she said, holding her hand out to him to take the hairs.
Ron let her pluck them from his fingers. Pulling a tiny flask from her pocket, she placed the hairs inside before stoppering it.
“Come on, let’s get ready to go, then,” she told them, getting to her feet. “We’ll need to Apparate as soon as I lift the enchantments on the compartment.”
They both stood. Ron seized Harry by the elbow to steady himself when he lost his balance slightly as the train suddenly began to slow down, nearing the next station. Harry tensed at the unexpected movement, but then caught himself and relaxed his arm, pulling it more slowly though Ron’s grip to grasp him by the hand. She held her hand out to Harry, and he clasped it while she raised her wand with the other.
“Are we ready?” she asked.
Ron nodded, and then Harry. She nodded, too, then gripped her wand.
“Finite Incantatem,” she said firmly, and then, grabbing Ron’s hand, she turned, Disapparating with them. They appeared next moment in the foyer at Grimmauld Place.
“It wasn’t us, Albus,” she said automatically to the dusty apparition of their old Headmaster rushing towards them once her tongue had uncurled itself from Moody’s curse. She hadn’t even spared it a glance, however, staring at Harry instead to check that he was all right, that his breathing wasn’t labored or his nose dripping blood like last time.
“Are you okay, Harry?” she asked, still examining him closely, though there appeared to be nothing wrong with him.
“Yeah, of course,” he said, sounding irritated as he nodded and released her hand. “I’m fine.”
He immediately took a step back from the tight circle and the close contact they all had with each other. But Ron didn’t release him, coming with him as if their hands were fused together. Harry took another step backwards to gain some separation, attempting to distance himself from Ron, to pull himself free, until his back hit the wall. Ron let go of Harry then, only to brace his hand against the wall near Harry’s head, trapping him, and preventing his escape.
“Ron!” she warned sharply, grabbing the back of his jacket, but he wouldn’t be deterred.
Leaning in close to Harry, pressing him flat against the wall, Ron used his larger size and Harry’s aversion to his nearness to his advantage, wielding the sexual tension between them like a weapon.
With nowhere to go, Harry turned his head away from Ron, breathing hard. His nostrils flared as Ron continued to invade his personal space. Intent on continuing their fight from the train, obviously still angry, Ron held Harry pinned against the wall.
“I’m not trying to fight your battles for you, Harry.” Ron spoke quietly, dangerously, almost directly into Harry’s ear, making the smaller wizard shiver and suck in a sharp breath. “But I will try and get in your way if you’re even thinking of going after Luna and Dean alone,” he warned.
Harry squeezed his eyes closed a moment, swallowing hard. He was clearly distressed by Ron’s physical proximity. Ron was careful not to touch him. He was not breaking his promise to keep his hands to himself, but he was pushing the boundaries as much as he could.
Hermione had been observing Harry’s reactions to them, though he’d tried to hide it. The covert glances when he thought no one was watching, the flashes of longing she saw in his eyes when he wasn’t quick enough to look away. She’d felt his eyes on her, and knew he was fighting against it, against them. Ron knew it, too, and it seemed he couldn’t help himself from openly watching Harry, standing a little too close to him or innocently brushing against his arm, on the stairs, or in the hallway. But he’d gone too far now in his anger. This was too much. She yanked hard on his jacket again to pull him away from Harry, but he didn’t budge.
“Ron, stop this now!” she ordered angrily.
“Bellatrix is collecting them,” Ron went on, completely ignoring her as Harry shuddered at her name, “trying to lure you back, counting on your ‘saving-people thing’ to get you to come to her. She’s using them as bait like she did with me and Hermione. It’s suicide, and I won’t let you do it!”
Reaching into his pocket, Ron pulled out the Deluminator.
“You tell me that Dumbledore didn’t give me a job to do? That he didn’t mean for me to keep close to you, to look out for you? Then why did he give me this?”
Harry looked down at the Deluminator Ron was waving under his nose. Then he turned his head to stare directly into Ron’s eyes. No longer allowing Ron to intimidate him, Harry gritted his teeth, finally getting himself under control. He remained defiantly silent, though, his jaw clenched, while he stood nearly nose to nose with Ron.
“Remember, I can find you,” Ron threatened. “There’s no point trying to run from us, you understand? It’s just going to make me angry if I have to come after you.”
Harry reached up then, pulling on Ron’s forearm to free himself. Ron let his hand slide from the wall, straightening up as they continued to glare at each other.
“Thanks for the warning,” Harry said flatly, his face going blank, devoid of any expression. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then he turned, walking away from them towards the kitchen, while she held Ron back by the grip she still had on his jacket.
“Fuck!” Ron roared in frustration. “You bull-headed arse!”
Harry ignored him and just kept walking. When he’d disappeared from sight, Ron finally turned to her, his hands curled into fists.
“Ron, for God’s sake! You have to stop pushing him away from us,” Hermione shouted, shoving him hard in the chest, outraged at his behavior. “What the hell are you trying to do?”
“He’s about to run, Hermione,” he told her, pointing back down the now empty hallway with the Deluminator still clutched in his hand. “Maybe you can’t see it, but he’s going straight for the bait Malfoy laid out for him, and it’s a trap.”
“Well, if that’s true, then all you’re doing is giving him reason to run. You’ve got to stop pressuring him, Ron,” she chided.
“This isn’t about my wounded pride, and it doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not he wants us. I know he does, but I’m trying to keep him alive right now, not get him into bed.”
“And I’m trying to salvage our friendship, here, because I’m afraid it’s going to be destroyed if you don’t stop this,” she told him, grabbing him by the wrist. “This isn’t the way, Ron. You could’ve done it differently. You know that kind of intimidation won’t work on Harry.”
“Fine,” he said, pulling away from her. “I’ll go tell him I’m sorry, get on my knees and beg then. I’ll make him swear he’s not going. I’ll force him to make the Unbreakable Vow or something, but the gloves are off, Hermione. I’ll use whatever tools I have to make him see reason. I’m not letting him run headlong into that. If I have to use my body, my wand, or a damned bat to stop him going, I will.”
Hermione saw in his eyes genuine fear. Ron believed unequivocally that Harry was truly planning to break from them and go off by himself, and soon. She wasn’t sure if it was a powerful premonition or paranoia, and she didn’t know what to say to reassure him because they’d both had feelings recently that Harry was thinking of leaving, of going after Bellatrix and the Horcrux alone.
“All right, Ron,” she said soothingly, stroking his arm. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”
“We can’t let him go,” he whispered, looking terrified, on the verge of tears.
His fear was so palpable that it frightened her, too, made her own anxiety rise at the imminent danger he believed Harry was in right now. She pulled him to her, standing on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, holding him by the back of his head.
“We’ll just have to be vigilant, Ron,” she told him as he relaxed his head on her shoulder, his arms at her waist. “We can’t stop Harry if he’s determined to go. We just have to watch for it and be prepared if it happens. Okay?”
“He didn’t even bother denying it.” Ron squeezed her once, sighing heavily before stepping out of her embrace. “Did you notice? He didn’t even try and lie about it or anything.”
“He heard you, Ron. Whether he wanted to or not, he heard what you said.”
Ron nodded reluctantly, and she slid her hand into his, pulling him down the hall, heading for the kitchen and Harry. It was long past lunch, and she was hungry. They were being poor lookouts if he was truly planning to run, standing here arguing in the foyer and leaving Harry alone to take advantage of their absence. She pictured him walking right into the kitchen fireplace to floo straight to Malfoy Manor. It was just the type of thing he’d do, given the opportunity.
They didn’t find Harry sneaking off, however, when they entered the kitchen. He was sitting at the table with Dobby, who’d just placed a steaming bowl of stew and a roast beef sandwich in front of him. Harry completely ignored their entrance as he spoke to the elf.
“I know that was hard for you, Dobby,” he was saying. “I’m sure it was terrifying for you to be back at the Malfoy’s, but we couldn’t have done it without you. I’m really grateful.”
Glancing up at their entrance, Dobby looked a little apprehensive at the obvious tension between the three of them. He had no doubt heard most of the argument, or at least their raised and angry voices down the hallway when they’d arrived. He looked back to Harry, asking for direction. Harry smiled at him reassuringly and nodded his head, as if to say “they’re fine.” Looking relieved, Dobby hopped down and scurried to get their lunch.
Dobby had been a godsend, a real comfort and help to Harry. Well, all of them, really, since arriving here. She’d resisted the idea of having him come at first, but she couldn’t help but realize how much more difficult things would have been these last few weeks without him. It was clear that he’d been as worried for Harry as she was on this trip, relieved to have him back safely and under his care.
Dobby was totally devoted to Harry, downright worshipful, delighted to be serving him, and Ron and her by extension. But if they came in conflict with Harry or his wishes, Hermione knew Dobby would turn on them in an instant to defend him, like he had the day of Ron’s party. Dobby would do anything Harry asked of him without hesitation, no matter what it was. She wondered suddenly if Harry knew just how many people he had that effect on. She marveled at the thought, grateful, actually, that he seemed completely unaware of it, or at least never tried to take advantage of that loyalty.
Everyone who came to know Harry felt that same pull to protect him. It was his gift, or curse, maybe, if you were to ask him. Of course, it wasn’t one-sided. Harry inspired that kind of devotion because he himself was that devoted, that protective and loyal to the people he loved, willing to sacrifice anything and everything for them.
She and Ron slid into chairs while Harry began to eat, still ignoring them as Dobby returned with their lunch and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Hermione pulled her stew towards her, dipping her spoon into the steaming broth when another, more sobering thought occurred to her and stilled her hand. Reminded of the help Dobby had given her in her attempt to get Harry to take his pain potion, she frowned down at her bowl, suddenly suspicious. She hoped that Harry wasn’t in cahoots with the tiny elf in his plans to leave them. Harry was quite formidable on his own, but aided and abetted by Dobby, she and Ron wouldn’t stand a chance of stopping him.
It was unlikely that Harry had time to make plans with Dobby to drug their stew while she and Ron were still in the foyer, however, nor did he have any of the pain potion to do it. Although, if he’d been planning it in advance, even before Draco’s news of the new prisoners being held by Bellatrix, Harry could have nicked it from her bag.
Good lord, she was now just as paranoid as Ron, manufacturing conspiracies in her own mind. Harry had hardly ever acted in a devious manner. It was she who had displayed that kind of behavior: slipping Harry the pain potion without his knowledge, manipulating him into taking a calming draught before the party, blackmailing Rita Skeeter, confunding Cormac McLaggen and then using him to make Ron jealous. She had a long history, but the only time she could remember Harry ever doing anything similar was when he’d pretended to put Felix Felicis in Ron’s drink, and he hadn’t actually even done it.
She was suspicious of Harry, she realized with some chagrin, because it was a plan she would’ve conceived herself, if it was she who could have employed Dobby’s help. That was her modus operandi, not his. It wasn’t really in his nature to manipulate or cajole. Harry was much more straightforward, and he was a bad liar besides. Still, she avoided the stew and ate her sandwich instead to be safe, thinking that she should check her bag for the potions later and hide them, if he hadn’t already gotten to them.
They all ate their lunch in awkward silence, with only the sound of spoons scraping against bowls and the chewing and swallowing of food as an accompaniment to their meal. When they finished, they moved to the drawing room where Harry continued his silent treatment. Sitting in his usual spot on the couch, he worked in his journal again as if she and Ron were just pieces of furniture, ignoring them completely.
Hermione hated the quiet now. After spending days in that dungeon surrounded by a silencing charm, she almost couldn’t bear it. Needing to hear the hum of conversation, the normal sounds of daily life going on around her, she longed for the cacophony of sounds always present at the Burrow or Hogwarts. The absence of it was like torture to her, nearly making her go mad with anxiety so that she wanted to pull the wireless from her bag and let it fill the room with white noise. But she resisted the urge. It would only prolong the wait. Harry couldn’t refuse to speak to them forever.
Ron was keeping resolutely mute, too, refusing to apologize to Harry for his atrocious behavior earlier. She decided it was best to stay out of it for the time being. Letting them work it out on their own without her conciliatory hand, she passed the time reading, or pretending to read. In actuality, she was stealing glances at either Ron or Harry out of the corner of her eye every few minutes.
Whenever her eyes passed over Harry, they lingered for a moment on his face, at the black eye she’d given him, which was mercifully fading now. She hated this silent Harry, but when he was cornered, when he lashed out, his words could sometimes be vicious, excruciatingly painful. She would never have thought she could ever strike him. It still made her wince every time she saw what she’d done to him. It kept his hateful words on repeat in her mind. She knew he didn’t mean them. He’d been confused and in pain, but hearing them spoken so cruelly made her feel sick.
Harry had suggested she had Stockholm Syndrome. Implying that she and Ron felt guilty for finding their own happiness at his expense, over his sacrifice for them, he said he thought that was why they felt compelled to include him, but she didn’t believe that. Stockholm Syndrome would only apply if Harry had been her captor. Instead, he’d been their savior. So maybe he was more on the mark with the idea that they were feeling gratitude. Ron admitted that he didn’t know what brought it on, but it didn’t really matter anymore. They’d acted on those feelings, regardless of the motivation.
She’d been stunned initially when Ron leaned down to Harry and kissed him, but seeing Harry’s response was powerful. She’d never seen two men together, and certainly not two men she cared for so deeply. The image of them together like that was unexpectedly erotic, the kiss so sensual, that without hesitation, she had followed Ron’s lead. Once Ron had opened that door, she’d rushed in right behind him, willingly, eagerly.
The feelings he’d begun to have for Harry might have been new to Ron, but she’d been fighting hers since they first arrived at Grimmauld Place, maybe even since they’d started this journey. They had always been close, but sharing living quarters for months, isolated from the outside world and living daily with the heightened fear and stress, the bond between all of them had grown. It had deepened with the shared sacrifices they’d made for each other and with every trial they’d endured, culminating in their capture and escape from the Malfoy dungeons. Along the way, she’d saved Harry’s life, Ron had saved Harry’s life, and Harry had saved both of their lives. The feelings may have manifested themselves under the most extreme of circumstances, but it didn’t make them any less real.
She was in love with Ron, but she couldn’t fight the attraction to Harry, couldn’t suppress it. God knows she’d tried for Ron’s sake, for Ginny’s, and for Harry’s. Ron had given her the opportunity to express it, though, to share it with him. It didn’t feel wrong. It felt perfect, like a natural progression of their deep friendship, an evolution of their tight bond. Only Harry didn’t seem to agree, and the rift their actions had created was threatening to tear them apart now. But they couldn’t really go back, and they were floundering now, trying to find a way forward.
“I’d like to start tomorrow, staking out the bank,” Harry announced suddenly, starling her by breaking the silence after several long hours of nothing but the sound of the clock ticking, Harry’s quill scratching on parchment, and the turning of barely skimmed pages in her book. “We need to figure out what it is we’re up against.”
She closed the heavy book she’d been pretending to read as Ron sat up straight in his chair. Harry was sitting cross legged on the couch, his journal clutched in his lap, his eyes darting between them to judge their reaction to his pronouncement.
“We can take turns, like we did when we were trying to get into the Ministry. Going under the cloak,” he explained.
“I think that’s a good idea,” she responded, finally.
But while she agreed with the concept, she didn’t really fancy the idea of any of them venturing out alone, especially Harry. Her mind was already working again, fearing that Harry would use it as an opportunity to flee. Still, if he was willing to discuss and plan an attempt on the bank that included them, it was a good sign.
“Do you think Bill would help us get into the bank, Ron?” Harry asked. “He works for Gringotts so he can get into the vaults without a key. He brought me some gold from mine one time, the summer before sixth year.”
She felt like an idiot as she listened to him throw out ideas. While she’d spent the last few hours studying him surreptitiously over her book, worrying herself about a reconciliation between Harry and Ron, or what plans Harry might be making to ditch them, Harry was busy working with the information they’d gleaned from Draco, thinking over all their possible avenues into the bank. Things really were getting out of hand. They were no longer working as a team. And it wasn’t Harry that wasn’t trying. Now she and Ron were the obstacles, she thought guiltily.
“Well, he’s in hiding now, too, just like the rest of my family,” Ron began after clearing his throat, which sounded croaky after hours of disuse. “He can’t just go strolling into Gringotts right now any more than we can, but he can at least tell us how to get past the security, maybe.”
“I don’t think we should tell him we’re trying to break into someone else’s vault, though,” she warned. “We should tell him Harry needs access to his own vault and needs to know how to sneak in. That way, we’ll avoid having to answer a lot of awkward questions.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I don’t think he’d refuse to help us, but we can’t really tell him what we’re searching for, can we?” Ron added. “It’s best not to get him too involved.”
“I agree. So it’s settled then? We’ll plan for one of us to be at the bank tomorrow when it opens to have a look around—”
“I’ll do it,” Ron quickly volunteered before she could even open her mouth, thinking like her, possibly, that it would have to be one of them. There was no way they were letting Harry go alone.
Harry glanced at her to see if she had any objection, knowing, of course, why Ron was so eager, but he didn’t argue and neither did she.
“Fine,” he agreed. “Then we’ll go to Bill’s later in the day if all goes well, see what he can tell us.”
Harry got up off the couch and went to the bathroom when they’d all agreed, and just like that, the conversation was over. When he returned, he’d gone quiet again. He spent the rest of the evening and all through dinner keeping to himself, responding only if they asked him something directly, and then using the fewest words possible. When Harry headed up to bed that evening, Ron finally gave in, speaking for the first time in hours.
“Harry?” Ron called after him, halting Harry at the door, but he didn’t turn around. “Harry, I’m sorry about earlier, okay? I just…please don’t go, all right?” he pleaded, gripping the arms of his chair. “Say you’re not going alone…say you’re not going at all. Please?”
Harry stood there a moment with his back to them. Then he let out a heavy sigh and walked out of the room without a word. Ron squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head at Harry’s departure.
Hermione watched him go, feeling her own sense of dread seeping into her. Ron was right. Harry wasn’t even trying to deny that he was making plans to leave.
They followed him to bed shortly after, but she knew it would be a sleepless night even as she crawled under the blankets and curled up against Ron. Harry had left his door open as he had every night since they began sleeping across the hall from each other. She knew her ears would be straining for the sound of him creeping down the hall as she closed her eyes, knew that every creak and pop of the house would have her sitting bolt upright on the bed, listening for his escape. And that’s how she found herself, in the dead of night, leaning against the doorjamb of Harry’s room, her arms wrapped around herself, cold after the warmth of Ron and her bed, wearing just one of his thin t-shirts.
Leaving Ron snoring softly, she’d slid out of bed and padded quietly to Harry’s door to peer in at his darkened form once again. She’d been up twice in the night already to check on him, to reassure herself that he was still there, that he hadn’t snuck out on his own.
She hated him being in the bedroom across the hall from them, hated that they weren’t all still together in Sirius’ room, and not just because it was so much easier for him to sneak away now. She missed the quiet conversations they’d shared, yearned for the closeness she felt with him in those moments, knowing they could repair their friendship if only they’d just had that opportunity now. Time to talk with their barriers down, speaking with an openness that the darkness always seemed to provide.
“How many times are you going to come in here and check on me?” Harry asked her softly, which startled her nonetheless.
Hermione let out an exasperated breath at being caught.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked, whispering to his silhouette as he turned to face her.
“It’s getting close to the full moon,” he replied. “It’s been messing with my senses...and my mind.”
He sighed, scooting up to sit with his back against the headboard.
“I can hear you breathing and the rustling of your shirt when you crossed your arms,” he explained in a hoarse whisper. “I could hear you brushing your hair back off your shoulder when you came to stand there in the doorway. I can smell the lavender scent of the shampoo you use, too, like you’re standing right next to me.”
He was merely stating the facts, answering her question, but his words sounded so seductive to her, though she knew he didn’t mean them that way, not purposefully, anyway. But his voice held a note of longing that she didn’t think was her imagination. It made her warm all over, fidgeting nervously at the door.
She heard him take a deep breath and then sigh again.
“I can also hear Ron shifting on the bed, restless maybe, because even asleep, he knows you’re gone. I can smell him on you, too. Spicy, like cinnamon, and the way it smelled when we were camping in the woods, kind of earthy, you know? Like damp leaves and the smoke from a campfire, and how the hell does he even smell like that all the time anyway?”
“You always smell like mint to me now,” she told him, smiling slightly at his confused thoughts about Ron, “and the way it smells after it rains, like your skin should feel cool to the touch, but it’s just the opposite, you’re always so warm.”
“Go back to Ron, Hermione…please,” he pleaded with her, as if he knew she was fighting the urge to go to him.
But she didn’t want to obey, not when he sounded like this, so lonely and sad. Not when she thought he needed them this badly. Not when she knew he was so close to giving in, to getting up off his bed and following her back to Ron. Not when she was afraid that instead, he might run like hell when she turned her back on him.
Her heart was racing now, with fear, with desire. She didn’t come here for this, but she couldn’t stop herself pursuing it.
“Come with me, Harry,” she urged him, taking a step towards him.
She heard his breath hitch, a soft hissing of air as he held up a shadowed hand to ward her off.
“No, please don’t come any closer, all right?”
Ignoring his pleading, she stepped into the room anyway. She heard him let out a soft moan of protest, but she only came in and sat on the bed closest to the door, her back against the wall and her knees pulled to her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she propped her chin on her knees, still staring at his dark form.
“I wasn’t asleep the other morning, Harry,” she confessed, and she knew that he understood what she meant by the way he’d gone completely still.
She had no idea what in heaven’s name had her suddenly confessing this. Why she was trying to provoke him now, or what she hoped to gain from this admission. Only that she wanted him to understand that it wasn’t just Ron that wanted to be with him. That things between them had started long before his disastrous turn in the shower, and that Ron wasn’t pushing her to accept a relationship with him.
He was quiet a long time before he finally spoke, his voice shaking slightly.
“Why didn’t you push me off you? Why didn’t you stop me? After what I did?”
“Well, for one, I knew you weren’t really awake. I was afraid to wake you up. Afraid you’d freak out,” she said, and for the first time, she wasn’t being entirely truthful.
“Oh, God, Hermione! I’m so sorry,” he apologized, sounding completely mortified. “I didn’t know what I was doing, I was half asleep. I never meant to—”
“I know. It wasn’t your fault. Things like that happen,” she offered lamely.
“Not to you…well, not by me!”
“Harry, you’re fighting against something that’s being offered to you freely, and I know you want to take it,” she said, sliding back off the bed and walking slowly towards him. “The truth is, I didn’t want to stop you then, and I don’t want to stop this now. I don’t want you to be alone in here. I don’t want you to say no.”
“Why are you doing this?” he whined in frustration, squeezing himself into the corner and drawing his knees up to his chest protectively as she sat down next to him on his bed. “You’re complicating everything. It’s not right, what you’re asking. Why can’t you and Ron just be happy with each other?”
“Because you’re not happy,” she answered simply.
“And so you’re willing to just throw away your own happiness for me?”
“I don’t think I’m throwing anything away. Ron and I love you, Harry.”
“You feel guilty, you feel like you owe me something,” he accused.
“No. It’s not guilt or gratitude, and I’m not suffering under the delusions of some psychological condition, either,” she countered. “I love you. It’s not the same way I’m in love with Ron. It’s different, but no less powerful. The feelings are just as intense to me, and I know you feel it, too, Harry.”
She rested her hand on the lump she knew was his foot, and he let out a tiny whimper of fear.
“We were all traumatized so much in that terrible place, and we need each other to heal from that,” she continued, her voice low and soft, trying not to frighten him further. “No one can imagine the horror we’ve been through. No one can understand how much this journey has changed us, how it’s reshaped our lives and forged our deep connections. And no one loves you more than Ron and I do, Harry. They have no idea what you suffered for us, what it cost you. We’re the only ones who can give you what you need right now, and that’s all we want to do. We just want to take care of you.”
“That’s guilt, or pity. Don’t you see it?”
“It doesn’t matter what it is. You can give it a name, you can make an excuse for it, but it won’t make it go away. It won’t stop what’s already happened between all of us, what is happening between us.”
“Oh, God! Why can’t things just go back to the way they were before?” he cried.
“Before when? Before we were captured? Before Dumbledore died? Before Sirius? Before you entered the maze in the Tri-Wizard Tournament? Before when, Harry?” she asked him quietly, stroking his foot to soothe his agitation. “I’ve thought on it, too, wished the same thing, but when do you stop going back? At what point do you just have to stop and accept where you are right now? We can’t undo what’s happened to us, what we’ve done and seen.”
“This is just making everything more difficult. Don’t you understand? I can’t separate myself from the two of you enough to do what I need to do. I’m too terrified of something happening to either of you to get on with it.”
“You’re thinking with your emotions and not with your brain. You can’t finish this alone. You need us to help you. You think we don’t know how perilous this will be? That we don’t realize the danger? It’s only going to get more treacherous for all of us if we’re separated or working against each other.”
“I’ve got to keep fighting this, Hermione. I have to. It’s going to destroy us all.”
“All right,” she conceded. “I’ll stop pushing, but I don’t think I can convince Ron to stop trying. I don’t want to ruin our friendship over this. You’re my most cherished friend, Harry, and I love you with all my heart. I only want us to be close again. I miss you. I miss this.” She motioned between them. “I miss lying next to you at night. I miss waking up with you in the morning. I couldn’t bear it if you leave.”
She reached out a hand to cup his face.
“You’re so beautiful, Harry,” she whispered, brushing her thumb across the cheekbone she’d bruised so badly, his skin so warm against her cold hands.
Harry’s whole body had gone rigid on the bed at her touch. She could feel his rapid breath on her wrist, his pulse throbbing against her fingers as he swallowed repeatedly, trying to fight down his fear, to get control of himself like he’d had to in the foyer with Ron.
“Go back to Ron, and close the door tonight, okay? Hermione, Please?” he begged her, his voice cracking from the strain. “I promise, I’m not leaving.”
Giving in, conceding defeat finally, she leaned into him and pressed her lips lightly against his for just a moment while he held his breath. His whole body shuddered as he gripped the blankets in his fists. Then she pulled back, staring into his shadowed face.
“You’re an awful liar, Harry,” she whispered.

~ . ~

I know I'm getting slower and slower with my updates, but I just want you guys to know that I am not abandoning it. Ever! I will finish this story, even if it turns into a pile of crap at the end, LOL... God, I hope it doesn't.
Thank you all for your reviews and support. I so look forward to your responses. Also, a special thank you to APKBLACK and SALON_KITTY who are beta'ing or proofreading these chapters, making helpful suggestions and just generally making me a better writer.
Greycie
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What it comes down to

Chapter 27. Planning and Pining